


Relax

by ghastlyshilo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, SO MUCH FLUFF, cheer-up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghastlyshilo/pseuds/ghastlyshilo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is becoming manic about an elusive case, but as always, his doctor knows exactly what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax

**Author's Note:**

> For Nic ♡

To say that the case was going badly would be a bit of an understatement. In fact, in reviewing the events of today alone, John decided it would be quite like saying that a burning building was a trifle warm. After weeks of stagnancy, the serial killer had finally murdered her next victim, but rather than finally establishing a pattern that Sherlock could make something of, the demise of this third victim had proven just as unexpected and unpredictable as the previous two. Though John had been told that there was “nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you,” this attitude clearly had limitations for one consulting detective. Sherlock had spent the day staring at his pinboard for hours at a time, going into the station to investigate a lead that turned out to be false, loudly arguing with Lestrade about the ineptitude of the London police force, and finally getting a call from the killer herself that was nothing so much as a taunt. The latter Sherlock had been ecstatic about, insisting that the killer had finally lost her patience and that he must now be able to apply some clue from the phone call to the other evidence. However, minute examination of the pinboard, and even a two-hour violin solo, had produced as much help as anything they had done in the last three weeks. Now, John was trying to be sensible enough for both of them as he sat on the couch, staring at the pages of a book and listening to Sherlock pace with increasing velocity behind him.

“Sherlock,” John tried.

No answer. A moment later, there was a faint groan.

John looked up from his book. “Sherlock.”

“Shut up.” It was muffled, as though his hands were over his face.

John sighed and turned around. “Sherlock –”

“SHUT UP, John, I’m trying to solve this, I can’t –”

“You’ve been trying all day, and you’re no farther than you were weeks ago!”

“I can’t –”

“Can’t what?”

Sherlock screwed up his face, scrubbed it violently with his hands, then burst out, “I can’t THINK!”

Faced with Sherlock’s misery, John noticed for the first time that day how very tired his flatmate looked. His posture was no longer ramrod straight, but sagged like a man depressed; his hair was slightly mussed, wild curls sticking out at odd angles; and there were dark bags under his eyes. John was reminded with a pang of how Sherlock had looked coming home after careening around London with a bullet wound in his chest, and John’s gut clenched when he remembered that it had all been for him. His eyes softened, holding Sherlock’s gaze, almost tearful in frustration.

Resolutely, John closed his book and set it on the coffee table. He turned back to Sherlock and reached out his hand. “C’mere.”

Sherlock hesitated. “I can’t be distracted –”

“Just – come over here, this’ll help you think.”

Knowing by now that Sherlock responded the best to gentle encouragement, John coaxed the detective to the other side of the couch and even managed to make him sit down. He still looked suspicious, but when John gathered him up in his arms and slowly settled them both down into the cushions, Sherlock couldn’t help but melt a little.

“You need to relax,” John murmured, rubbing Sherlock’s back through the expensive suit jacket. “Don’t try to force it.”

Dutifully, Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed slowly, snuggling his face into John’s jumper. John situated himself more comfortably, holding Sherlock a little tighter, and continued to drag his hands up and down the detective’s spine.

After about a minute, Sherlock squirmed impatiently. “I’m going to fall asleep –”

“Good,” John quipped. “You need a decent nap once in a while.”

“John, I need to _focus_ –”

“Shhh …,” John insisted, bringing a hand up to rest in Sherlock’s hair. “You’ve been focusing since five this morning. Give yourself a break, it’ll come to you.”

Sherlock sighed somewhat impatiently but didn’t argue. The hand in Sherlock’s hair began to move, massaging his scalp and carding through dark, soft curls. He splayed his fingers out and pulled at the locks just a little, and John felt a shiver run down down Sherlock’s spine. Experimentally, John stopped rubbing Sherlock’s back and repeated the action with both hands, and he could swear Sherlock was  _purring_ with delight, nuzzling into John’s neck and wrapping his arms even more snugly around his waist. John smiled.

They lay there, warm against each other, John’s hands plying the tension from Sherlock’s body. Slowly, Sherlock’s mind calmed, and eventually he stopped buzzing, and John could feel the whirring machine in his arms turn sleepily, blissfully human again.

“OH!”

The shout made John jump violently, and he opened his eyes to find Sherlock already on his feet and talking, connecting events and details together so fast John could barely keep his bearings. When it became clear Sherlock wasn’t going to wait for John to catch up, the doctor settled back, contentedly watching the lithe, frantic form in front of him, the waving arms, the restless feet, and the chattering mouth, until Sherlock suddenly stopped. “What?” he asked, looking at John with his brows drawn together.

“You’re welcome,” John said, grinning.

Sherlock blinked, then stepped over to the couch, cupped John’s face in his hands, and pressed a lingering kiss to the doctor’s forehead. As he pulled back, John saw the fire in his eyes renewed.

“Thank you,” said Sherlock. The corners of his mouth pulled up, and John relaxed, satisfied with his success.


End file.
